I blink. Perhaps I was having one of those acid flashbacks...hey, it was only once and the gods only know if that had been on that scrap of paper had been acid or just a high school prank...but it had to be something like that. Or perhaps it was some kind of new amoeba in the water. I know, I know...I should not have had the water and I had been doing such a good job of not drinking the water, but my soda was served with ice in it last night at the restaurant and I 'ate' the ice. Not the smartest thing, I know, but give me a break.
I slowly sat up, my head still spinning like I had too much tequila...like I was that poor donkey I saw at the tourist tequila factory trap...they would set bottles filled with booze in front of the poor animal and it would pick them up in its mouth and drink them as it swayed, sometimes staggering and falling over. I looked around. I was no longer in Mexico City, that much I knew. It was busy but not busy enough.
I blinked rapidly a few times, swiping the back of my hand across my eyes quickly as I scanned the area for some sort of sign, something that would tell me where I was even if it couldn't tell me how I got here.
EN ESTA COMMUNIDAD NO EXISTE LA PROPIEDAD PRIVADA PROHIBIDA LA COMPRA-VENTA DE TERRENOS COMMUNALES
Alright, well. I guess I won't be purchasing a summer home in the area. Sign tells me I can't own private property here but it fails to tell me exactly where 'here' is. I look some more. People are walking past me, ignoring me for the most part as I made myself slightly more comfortable on the bench I had awoken on. Most ignored me, but there were several kids staring at me like I had fallen from the sky. One looked a bit oddly familiar and he was smirking at me, but I was in no shape to go traipsing through my memories. I looked away.
Another sign...I squinted as it was a bit further away. Universidad de la Sierra Juárez. Ahhh. Okay. I know where I am now. I am in Oaxaca. Precisely, I am in Ixtlán de Juárez. I snorted. Ixtlán my arse. I hope this town gets a lot of money from moronic tourists who bought into that thieving Carlos Castenada.
Putting that scam artist who made good money appropriating the culture of native peoples aside, I had to decide how I was going to get back to Mexico City. I reached into my pocket, only to discover my wallet was gone and that kid was still smirking at me. The one who looked like a younger version of the local who gave me the lemon drop back in Mexico City
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